DC BLUE: The Kryptonite Conspiracy
by BatJamags
Summary: Timeline Phase 1: It has been two years since the Man of Steel began watching over Metropolis. Now, someone very powerful wants him dead, but what on earth could kill Superman? T for mild violence and language.
1. Prologue

**Canned Intro: DC BLUE is an AU-ish series of fics which is written as though it were an adaptation. Thus, it is roughly based on the comics (particularly the Post-Crisis universe) but some elements are reinterpreted and others are borrowed from different versions of the DCU (primarily but not exclusively the DCAU and Young Justice). For instance, many alterations are made in the name of a non-sliding timeline. The stories (unless I fall behind on the first round of them, which seems likely given the project's current state) will take place in the near future.**

It was 9:33 AM on Monday, October 8, 2018 when the leftmost engine of the 4:30 flight from Coast City to Metropolis exploded.

* * *

"Hey, Smallville, you know anything about Astrotech?"

Lois had a habit of asking these sorts of questions out of the blue. Usually, it meant she was onto something big, and was double-checking to make sure she didn't sound crazy. Clark adjusted his glasses as he looked up at her.

"Uh… Nope, don't think I've ever heard of them. Should I have?"

"No," said Lois, "That's just it. _Nobody's_ heard of them. They're a little start-up research firm with a focus on astrophysics. So why would LexCorp spend twenty-five _million_ dollars to buy them out?"

That's when Clark heard it.

 _Explosion. About twenty miles out, high up. This sounds like a job for Superman._

"Yeah, that is weird. Hey, I'm going to run to the bathroom for a second," Clark said, "Make sure Perry doesn't think I'm pulling another disappearing act."

With that, he took off into the halls of the Daily Planet building, ducking into a small storeroom. Clark quickly pulled off his suit, revealing the bright blue uniform beneath.

* * *

"… Please remain seated and _keep your seatbelts fastened._ We are beginning our descent for an emergency landing. I remind you that there are life jackets…"

The captain's voice, carried over the intercom, was drowned out when a young woman near the back of the plane pointed at something outside the plane's window.

"Look!" she cried, "Out in the sky!"

"That's just a bird!" responded a middle-aged man across the aisle.

"It must be another plane!" a younger man further up yelled.

"No," said one of the flight attendants, "It's…"

Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound! This amazing stranger from the planet Krypton! The Man of Steel!

" _ **Superman!**_ "

Superman flew to the left wing, quickly spotting that the damaged engine had caught fire. Flexing his powerful Kryptonian lungs, Clark blew with all his might, but the wind was already blowing faster than he could, and it hadn't put out the engine.

 _Got to stop that fire from spreading to the cabin! This isn't going to be pretty, but there's only one thing I can do_ , the Man of Steel thought to himself.

He flew in closer to the cabin, placed one hand on the plane's fuselage, and gripped the base of the wing with the other.

 _Here goes nothing._

With a mighty tug, Superman ripped the wing clear off the plane, sending it careening towards the fields below. As the plane started to dip sideways, Superman caught the stump of the wing, gripping it tightly and shifting to face forwards, balancing the vehicle with his own prodigious strength.

"Why do all the planes crash near Metropolis?" Superman muttered, grunting at the airliner's weight, "You'd think people would start taking the train."

Before long, the plane dipped beneath the clouds and the landing strip was in sight.

* * *

Clark walked back into the newsroom to see fully half of the _Planet_ 's reporting staff packing their bags.

"Did I miss something?" he said.

"Just got a call from the airport, Smallville;" Lois said, "Superman saved a plane from crashing. Now get your stuff and let's go! If you make me late for another story, I'm writing an exposé on you. I'm thinking 'Clark Kent: Enemy of the Press' for the title."

Clark trotted to his desk and started shoving his laptop and papers into his briefcase.

"A little on the nose, don't you think?" he said.

"It's a work in progress," Lois deadpanned, "And where the hell is Jimmy? Somebody go find him; Perry hates it when I hand him a headline with no pictures."

* * *

 **Superman's Plane Rescue Prompts Finger-Pointing**

Man of Steel saves plane, 367 passengers.

[Facebook – Twitter – Email – Print – Bookmark]

By Lois Lane, October 8, 2018

Earlier today, Metropolis' Man of Steel swooped in to save the day once again, guiding a damaged LexAir Model 52 Jetliner – and the 379 passengers and crew – safely into Metropolis International Airport. The flight had left Coast City International in the wee hours of the morning, and CCI's staff reported no trouble with the craft's ill-fated leftmost engine, which exploded just as the airplane was beginning its descent.

"… we're still interviewing the ground crew, but so far… it looks as if there was no indication that this was going to happen," said CCI spokesman Harry Kalmaku, who went on to suggest that a manufacturing defect may have been the cause of the Model 52's unscheduled retirement. We are awaiting further details from the FAA investigators on the ground at Met Intl.

Astute readers will be reminded of a similar incident two years ago, this one involvling a Ferris Aircraft Type-59. LexCorp founder and CEO Lex Luthor was quick to point that out in his own press conference.

"Our safety standards are among the highest in the country," Luthor said before adding: "I trust my company's aircraft with my life, and you can feel safe doing the same."

Mr. Luthor went on to shift attention back to the plane's rescuer, citing Metropolis International's clean safety record prior to Superman's appearance.

While Luthor is a known critic of Superman, his latest attack on the Man of Tomorrow sparked public outrage. Ben Burke, the captain of the doomed airliner, called Mr. Luthor a "disgusting opportunist" and publicly thanked Superman for saving the flight.

Superman, as usual, was not available for comment.

* * *

He clicked away from the article.

"Bias in our news media," he mumbled dryly, "And for an _alien_ , of all things."

He was shaken from his thoughts by a light tapping at the open glass door of his office.

"Mr. Luthor?" said a young woman, leaning her head in.

"What is it, Mercy?"

"There's a Mr. Crock here to see you."

"Just the man I was hoping to hear from. Send him in."

Clad in a polo shirt and baseball cap, Crusher Crock looked like he'd just stepped off a golf course. He was a tall, athletic man with slick blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He didn't bother to sit down, preferring to lean against the wall, dangerously close to Luthor's expensive portrait of himself.

"You're insane," he said, "You know that, right?"

"I'm pleased to finally meet you too, Mr. Crock," Luthor retorted, waiting a second before adding " _My_ plan worked perfectly. _You're_ the one who got on a plane you'd just sabotaged."

Crock shrugged.

"My employers aren't too big on chickening out of a job. You know how it is. Now, about my pay?"

Luthor tabbed to another window on his browser and hit "enter."

"It's being wired to the account you specified as we speak."

Crock smirked.

"Groovy."

Luthor spun his chair around to face out the large window taking up the back wall of his office.

"The proof-of-concept seems to have been successful. I think it's high time we began Phase One."

* * *

 **There's the first chapter. Updates will likely be inconsistent but frequent, since I'm trying to keep the story slightly in the future of when any given chapter is published. That also means I may have to go back and re-edit chapters that have already been posted. Regardless, you're here to read a story, not an author's note, so I'll shut up now.**


	2. Chapter 1: The Hobsneck Incident

It was Tuesday, October 9, and the city of Metropolis was plunging deeper into a rainy Fall season. Rain drizzled miserably onto the soaked streets from an unrelentingly grey sky. As a majority of Metropolitans huddled in their homes or ducked into work, two men lounged on a bench on the boardwalk, paying no mind to the rain.

One, a sour-looking, middle-aged man in a red t-shirt, pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, rubbed the raindrops off of the screen, and turned to his fellow.

"Three minutes," he said, "You think he'll show?"

The other ran a hand through his slick blond hair.

"Of course he'll show, Johnny. Your boss and I have everything planned out, so all you've got to do is stay quiet, watch the fireworks, and take your shot. Speaking of which, you oughtta get in position."

John sighed and rose to his feet.

"Alright, but this had better work."

Clark shifted awkwardly in his seat as his phone started to vibrate. He slowed the car and started to reach for the troublesome device when he was startled by a honk behind him. He grit his teeth and sped back up. He peered cautiously at the congested traffic around him, noting the driver behind him making a rude gesture in the rear-view mirror.

As no one with a clear view of him was looking in his direction, Clark lifted himself up out of his seat slightly with his powers and quickly retrieved his phone from his pocket.

"Clark Kent with the _Planet_ here. … Oh, hey, Perry. … The traffic is insane on the road in. … How was I supposed to know it was this bad? … The Meteors game today was canceled! … Believe me, if I'd known how bad it was, I would've taken a shortcut."

Clark's conversation was interrupted by a noisy metallic snapping sound. Clark's heart jumped into his throat and he dropped is phone, snatching it back up with his speed.

"… Nothing, sir. … Hey, I think I hear something happening over at the bridge. I'll bring you a story on that when I get in."

Clark didn't wait for Perry's response. He hung up his phone, wincing as the screen glass cracked under the force of his thumb.

"That's the third one this year," he muttered.

Clark scanned the surrounding traffic, looking for a place to pull over. There was none on either side of the street he could see normally, and anything he could spot with his x-ray vision would take too long to reach at the present crawling pace.

"Sorry about this," Clark sighed.

He slammed on the breaks and unbuckled his seatbelt. He ignored the chorus of honking as he threw open his car door and dashed out at a not-quite-superhuman speed.

He cut through the river of automotive molasses, dodging between two cars here and vaulting over one there. He didn't stop to check if he'd left a dent in the hood.

He tore down the sidewalk, kicking up water from the puddles, searching for a place to change. Finally, he caught a glimpse of a good candidate through the rain on a distant corner.

 _A_ phone booth _? What is this, 1938?_ he thought as he approached the booth.

Clark Kent ducked into the phone booth, and a moment later, Superman emerged.

He took off, squinting against the rain as he rocketed up above the drenched rooftops of downtown Metropolis. Relying on his powerful hearing, he concentrated on the metallic creaking that cut through the city's ambient cacophony. He'd almost reached the source by the time he identified it.

The Hobsneck bridge came rapidly into view. Clark's eyes widened at the strained sounds emanating from the city's second-longest suspension bridge. Focusing in on his super vision and ignoring the mass of honking cars jostling to get off the structure, Clark traced each cable, searching for the damage.

Amidst the fog, anyone else would have missed the wisps of steam rising from a small spot near the center of the north cable. Superman flew to the cable, grabbing hold of either side of the steam's source just to be certain. It wasn't much good, however; the cable was too wide for him to hold on to both halves if it split. It was difficult to see through metal with his X-Ray vision, but his sense of smell told him more than well enough what was happening to the cable: acid.

 _Nothing's ever simple, is it?_

"Looks like your alien's taken the bait, boss."

"Is Corben in position?"

"He'd better be. This gonna work?"

"If I knew that, this exercise would be unnecessary. Have you notified the press?"

"I'm sure they'll be around. Any way it goes down, it'll be one hell of a show."

Lois slipped in a puddle as she burst out of the subway exit, catching herself with her umbrella. She paused for a brief moment to regain her balance and took off again, fumbling with the switch of the umbrella. It was promptly knocked out of her hands as she ran headlong into a newspaper vending machine. Lois pulled herself to her feet, coming face-to-face with her own headline.

"You misspelled 'involving,'" she muttered to her byline before darting off again.

She ran out into the street, ignoring the honking of the cars as she crossed to the next block. As she cleared that stretch of sidewalk, she skidded to a stop, looking out over the Metropolis Bay at the bridge. She stopped to catch her breath, brushing off her jeans and sweeping a few renegade strands of hair out of her face.

She could almost make out some movement on one of the cables. She fumbled for her phone and tried to zoom in with the camera, but with her hands shaking from adrenaline, she couldn't hold it steady enough to see properly. She gritted her teeth and looked over her shoulder

"Where _is_ he?"

As if on cue, Jimmy Olsen jogged around the corner, arms full of a video camera and tripod, nearly tripping over the camera's power cord as it trailed along behind him. Lois pinched the bridge of her nose as he reached her.

"Jimmy, where the hell do you think you're going to plug that in?"

Jimmy looked down at the cord.

"Uh…"

"Never mind that, just give me the camera."

Jimmy awkwardly shifted the tripod under his arm and offered the camera to Lois. As she took it, the tripod went clattering to the ground. Lois whirled around, zoomed in the camera's telephoto lens, and pressed record. She checked the bridge, seeing the last of the motorists filtering off at a glacial pace.

"Hey, I can do-" Jimmy started.

"Sorry, Jimmy. I just need to see…" Lois trailed off as she saw what was happening with the cable.

"What is it?" Jimmy asked, "What do you see?"

The cable had already snapped. Only a few strands of the internal wires remained taught, held in place by…

"Superman," Lois said, "He's holding the whole thing together!"

Suddenly, a flash of brilliant green light streaked out to the bridge. Lois winced at the brightness, and even before she opened her eyes, the sound of snapping metal and crumbling concrete told her what was happening. Her jaw dropped as the bridge, now supported by only a single cable, began to buckle under its own weight. She swallowed as one of the remaining cars tumbled off the side of the listing bridge into the water.

"Jimmy," she choked out, "I think that light came from this side. I'm going to go look for it."

"Uh, y-yeah. Right," Jimmy stammered.

She handed the camera back to him, and took off without stopping to check if he'd dropped it.

John whistled, looking down at the strange weapon with respect.

"This thing packs one hell of a punch," he said.

He caught the first few notes of his disposable phone's generic ringtone and answered before it could get any further.

"Corben," he answered.

"Well, Johnny boy, you did the job, and I'll be damned if it didn't work like a charm," Crock's voice replied.

"So, that means I get my payment, right?"

He heard a soft chuckle on the other end of the call.

"A man after my own heart," Crock said, "Yeah, you'll get what you're owed. Listen, the boss has another few jobs lined up. You in?"

"They all this easy?"

"Ah, they aren't too bad, as long as you're OK with…"

John stopped paying attention to Crock as he heard a loud splashing noise coming towards him. He leaned out from under his position beneath the boardwalk to see a frazzled-looking woman in a suit and sneakers.

"Aw, hell," he muttered as he put the phone back to his ears, "Hey, it looks like a fan saw the show and is looking for an autograph. Gotta cut and run."

"Don't let 'em see your face, Corben," said Crock grimly, "You're only useful as long as you _don't_ have half the MPD on your ass."

"I'll be careful," John muttered.

Lois looked frantically around the boardwalk.

 _Damn it, it came from_ somewhere _around here._

She could faintly hear the shuffling of sand somewhere beneath her. Without hesitating, she vaulted over the side of the boardwalk, landing on her knees on the beach. She stumbled to her feet and tried to brush the sand off her pants only to get it on her hands.

She looked up to see a man in a red shirt running away from her beneath the boardwalk.

"Hey!" she yelled, "Where do you think you're going?"

When he turned around in the distance, Lois was lucky to notice the pistol in his hand before he could fire it. She ducked behind one of the posts holding up the boardwalk and winced at the noisy firecracker pop of the gun as two bullets struck the pillar.

After a few seconds of silence, Lois peeked out around the pillar, and the man was gone.

"Well," she mumbled, "Today's going to be a long day."

She turned to leave, and felt her foot brush against something. She kneeled down and picked up a black briefcase with a stylized 'A' inscribed across its surface.

Lois flopped down into one of the uncomfortable break room chairs, leaned her head back against the drywall and closed her eyes. After a moment, she heard someone sit down next to her.

"Tough meeting?" Jimmy asked.

"Tough _day_ ," said Lois, "Sure, they don't think anybody died, but a bridge half-collapsed, _something_ happened to Superman, and Clark still hasn't shown up. I think Perry's just as scared as everyone else. He just…"

"Shows it by shouting at people."

"Yeah."

"Hey, I got something you might want to see."

Lois looked up at Jimmy, who was still holding his camera. Jimmy brought up a file and hit 'Play.'

A man and a woman were standing near the edge of the water, looking out at the partially collapsed Hobsneck Bridge.

"Jesus Christ," said the man, "Who'd _do_ something like this?"

The woman turned to look at him.

"'Who?'"

"Yeah, didn't you hear from the damage control guys out on the- out on what's left of the bridge?"

"I keep telling you, Dan: nobody tells me anything. What's the scoop?"

"The cable got _burned_ through. Some kind of acid."

"How'd anyone even get _up_ there to do that?"

"Hell if I know."

The woman began to pace.

"'Work in Metropolis,' they said. 'Gotham's full of nuts and everyone's on the take,' they said. I could _use_ some _normal_ problems right about-"

She turned to the camera.

"Hey, kid! Do the words 'active crime scene' mean anything to you? Shove off!"

The recording ended.

"I, uh, didn't get anything more than that," Jimmy said.

Lois pulled a pen out of her pocket and stared at the still frame the video had ended on, clicking the pen a few times before speaking.

"Jimmy, I think we're onto something."


	3. Chapter 2: Recovery

Clark's eyes opened to the sting of dirty water as he stopped himself from gasping. A Kryptonian doesn't need much oxygen to live, and Clark's personal record for holding his breath was four hours. Breathing may not have been a problem, but drowning remained a concern.

Clark began to twist around, unsure of which way was up. He felt a sharp twinge of pain cut through his midsection and instinctively grabbed at the source. He looked down to see a harsh green glow emanating amidst wisps of red drifting lazily into the dark water.

 _That's funny_ , he mused, _I've never seen my blood before._

Forcing his mind back to the task at hand, he slowly (Kryptonians were also just as vulnerable to decompression sickness as a human, as Clark had found out on an ill-fated improvised diving trip when he was thirteen) made his way to the surface.

Sloshing water in front of him and clutching the strange wound, Clark stumbled up the bank of the river, towards a grimy stairway leading up to the street. As he stumbled and braced himself against the handrail, he saw a discarded copy of the _Planet_.

* * *

 **Hobsneck Horror**

Bridge collapse rocks Metropolis, Superman disappears

By Lois Lane, October 9, 2018

Metropolis held its breath today as the Man of Steel held two halves of a broken suspencion cable in his hands. For reasons unknown, he lost that grip, and…

* * *

Clark skimmed the rest of the article, noting idly that it made no mention that the bridge was sabotaged. As he did so, his memory snapped back to the powerful smell of the acid burning the cable.

"What was that stuff?" he wondered aloud.

Clark looked up at the city's skyline. He knew he should get back to the _Planet_ as soon as possible to let them know he was alright, but he wasn't going to accomplish anything with this wound. There was only one place in the world with the technology to treat a Kryptonian, and it was a long flight even for an uninjured Superman.

Clark was going home.

* * *

Jonathan Kent pulled the keys out of the ignition and stepped out of his battered red pick-up truck, breathing in the cool night air. After a moment, he reached back into the car to grab the grocery bags from the passenger seat. As he walked up the gravel path to the front door of the humble one-story farmhouse, he noticed something strange: none of the lights were on. When he'd left, Martha had been in the living room reading a book.

Jonathan fumbled the door open and walked cautiously into the kitchen. On the counter was a note scrawled in Martha's handwriting that simply said "Barn" in large letters.

The Kents hadn't used that barn in years. There was really only one thing inside it of any particular importance. As he slid the doors open, he saw it. The pod was an odd construct, about the size of a small truck and shaped roughly like a teardrop. Lights along the sides, usually dark, cast an eerie green glow through the wooden barn. Martha was standing with her back to the door, and turned immediately when Jonathan opened the door.

"Jon," she said, "It's Clark."

* * *

"So, that went well."

Crock had a knack for sounding sarcastic even when he meant what he said.

Luthor didn't appreciate it.

"Do you have a _point_ , Crock?"

"Not really."

"I've already given Corben his next assignment. You should receive the details shortly. Make sure nothing goes wrong."

"You know, I can hit a target. Why not just use me?"

"You're more useful elsewhere and less trustworthy anywhere. Any reasons I may have beyond those are none of your concern."

"I should be offended," Crock mused.

"Are you?"

"Not really."

"Your equivocating is nauseating."

"You sound like my boss."

"I am your boss."

"You're my client. My boss is someone a bit less… publicly known."

"And that's why I don't trust you. Just make sure the job is done."

Luthor hung up and rubbed his temple. Crock could be infuriating. He tapped a button on his desk. After a moment, Mercy leaned her head in the door.

"You buzzed, Mr. Luthor?" she said.

"I want a report on the projects."

She stepped in and walked to his desk.

"Project: Bullseye seems to have been a success, but the third test-"

"Yes, I was just discussing that with our contractor. I meant the others."

"Ah, I see. We are preparing Project: Parasite for field testing."

"Good. Send it to our associates. They may have some caped troubles in the near future if someone traces the acid back to them."

"Yes, sir. Project: Metallo is almost ready, but we have no test subject."

"That will be dealt with soon enough."

"Project: Praetorian is nearly complete."

"Good, we can use it to support Bullseye. What about the other two?"

"Aegis is proceeding slowly. We just don't have the data to complete it properly."

"That will come in time."

"We were not able to recover any usable samples for… the last one."

"Parasite may resolve that situation."

"Then everything is in order, sir?"

"Something like that."

* * *

"What is it?"

The hologram of Kal-El's father flickered slightly as the odd green crystal retracted into a small slot in the side of the pod.

"I do not know."

Jor-El had programmed the pod's computer carefully, but sometimes it required some prodding to get useful information out of it.

"Can you tell me anything about it?"

"It is a crystalline substance. It is mildly radioactive. It caused a harmful interaction with your Kryptonian physiology."

"Is it dangerous to humans?"

"That is unlikely."

"Do you have any idea where it comes from?"

"It is comprised entirely of minerals found on Krypton."

Clark narrowed his eyes.

"Krypton? Are you certain?"

"I have not experienced an error."

"How could something from Krypton have appeared on Earth?"

"I do not know."

"Could it be part of this pod?"

"No."

"What are the chances a piece of debris from Krypton's explosion made it here?"

"The chances are statistically insignificant."

"Could someone or something have brought it here on purpose?"

"I do not know."

Clark sighed. Clearly, he wasn't going to get any more useful information about the crystal.

"When will my wound heal?"

"Your reserves of solar energy are depleted. Your injuries will heal the next time you are exposed to direct yellow or blue sunlight."

 _Looks like I'm staying the night_ , Clark thought.

"Alright," he said, "Thank you, Father."

"You are welcome, Son," said the hologram.

The doors of the pod slid open, and Clark saw his human parents standing outside.

"Pa, you're here!" he said, gingerly lifting himself out of the pod.

He'd no sooner finished the sentence than his pa had pulled him into a tight hug.

"Your ma told me what happened," Pa Kent said.

Ma wrapped her arms around both of them.

"I'm proud of you, Clark."

Clark was home.

* * *

"Don't _scare_ me like that, Smallville," Lois snapped into the phone, "If you're going to get yourself killed chasing a story, you could at least have the courtesy to actually die."

She heard Clark chuckle sheepishly.

"Uh, yeah. Hey, I did get something, though. The bridge was-"

"Sabotaged, I know. Jimmy overheard the cops talking about it."

"Wait, you know that? It wasn't in your article."

"When did you read the article? Weren't you in the hospital all day?"

"Looked it up on my phone."

" _Before_ calling me?"

"I'm not going to win with this one, am I?"

"Nope."

"Great. Do you know _how_ they did it?"

"No idea."

"I do. Some kind of acid. Burned right through the cable."

"Are you kidding? Those things are- _were_ four feet thick!"

"Exactly. That's the weird thing."

"You know something? That actually sounds familiar. Give me some time to research it. We may have a lead."

Lois heard Clark say "What lead?" as she hung up.

She had work to do.

* * *

 **Thanks to AdmiralSakai for pointing out that Fanfiction ate my scene dividers. The problem should be fixed now.**


	4. Chapter 3: Intergang

"So… where _are_ we going?" Jimmy asked as he caught up to Lois.

Their footsteps echoed as they passed through the somewhat undersized parking garage beneath the _Daily Planet_ building.

"Remember those stories the _Planet_ ran about a year ago about the 'Impossible Robberies?'"

"Oh, yeah. Headlines were a mouthful," Jimmy said.

"Tried to sell them on 'The Phantom Raids' but Perry thought it was too obtuse."

"Alright," Jimmy said with a nod as they reached Lois' car, "What's that got to do with us?"

"Well, one of the heists was a bank robbery. Weird thing about that job was how they got into the vault. Give you three guesses."

"Burned through it with some kind of acid?"

"Close, but no cigar. Blew it open with high yield explosives. MPD never could identify what kind. They used the _acid_ to burn through the concrete _floor_. All six feet of it. Got away through the sewers."

Jimmy whistled.

"Strong stuff."

"No kidding. And I'd bet good money that's what was used on the bridge."

"OK, so this is all great, but that still doesn't tell me where we're going."

"I'm _getting_ to it. There was never enough evidence for the police, but some of our guys seemed pretty convinced that the heists were connected to Intergang."

Lois looked at Jimmy, stopping as though she'd actually answered his question.

"So, what," he said, "We're just going to stop in and pay Ugly Mannheim a little social call? Ask him if he sold his special super-acid to anybody?"

Lois didn't respond for a moment.

"Yeah, basically," she finally said.

* * *

"Maybe next time you drag me to a murderous gangster's hideout, you can warn me first?"

"And miss out on the expression on your face?"

Jimmy shot her a glare before turning his attention back to the nightclub across the street. Sheeda's Den was located near the edge of Chinatown, not far from the invitingly-named Suicide Slum. Like several prominent establishments in the Eastern portion of New Troy, the club was owned by Bruno "Ugly" Mannheim, the current boss of an enigmatic criminal organization called Intergang. Unclear though their origins and goals were, one thing that was widely known about Intergang was that they were not to be trifled with. Their strange equipment was more advanced than anything even the Metropolis Police had access to, and they were very protective of it.

 _Honestly,_ Lois thought, _Jimmy's not wrong. Won't make him feel any better to hear it, though._

"Don't worry," she said, "We're across the street. What are they going to care about us just having a look?"

"And how much do we _learn_ from having a look?"

"Well, so maybe we see something suspicious and go in to have a look around. It's a nightclub. It's meant to have people in it."

"In the _middle of the da-_ "

Their thoughts were interrupted by a distinct clicking sound behind them.

"Oh, yeah," said a voice, "It's meant to have people. They just ain't you."

The two slowly turned around to see a man in a suit leaning in the doorway of the building, holding a pistol. He stared at them for a moment.

"Now, beat it-" he began, "Hey, you're that chick from the _Planet_ , ain't you?"

"Your detective skills are astonishing," Lois deadpanned.

"The boss'll _like_ this," he said, "But try not to be a wiseass with him. He ain't as forgivin' as I am. Now c'mon. Both a' you punks."

* * *

Lois had been in Ugly Mannheim's office about one hundred twenty seconds by the time she started ignoring the Intergangster's advice.

"So, are you planning to _do_ something, or are you just going to stare ominously out that window?"

The massive, dark-haired man didn't turn to look at her but he did respond with a gravelly, wheezing chuckle that reminded Lois of a smoker's cough.

"You're lucky you ain't here for you, kid," he said, "You're here for that overgrown boy scout you write all those long-winded op-eds about."

"Well, that's mildly insulting," Lois muttered under her breath.

"How do you know he'll be here?" Jimmy asked slowly.

That got Mannheim to turn around. Lois' first thought was that with a face that wasn't especially attractive in the first place and was crisscrossed with deep scars, Ugly had earned his nickname.

"Just 'cause I'm bored, I might as well tell you."

He pointed to a small metal box on his desk.

"This little doohicky's putting out a noise in a frequency only his super-ears can hear, sayin' 'Hey! You! In the shiny red undies! Get over here!' Or, uh, somethin' like that."

"How do you know what frequency he can hear?" Lois pressed, a little too curious.

She felt Jimmy shift uncomfortably next to her..

"You can't get me to narc on _my_ boss so easy, kid," Mannheim said, "He knows plenty of things, and he's a hell of a lot scarier than your alien."

"You did just tell us you _have_ a boss," Jimmy pointed out.

Lois winced. He didn't have to point that out.

"If this works, you won't _live_ long enough to tell anybody," Mannheim said.

Just then, they heard a loud crash from somewhere else in the building.

"Your minutes are numbered, kids," Mannheim said with a grin.

* * *

When Superman landed, one or two of the club's patrons ran for the doors, but the rest just turned to face him.

"Mannheim," Superman said, "Where is-"

The bartender pulled out a light machine gun from underneath the bar and opened fire. Following his lead, the rest of the patrons – evidently all Intergangsters – pulled handguns and fired as well. Clark let the bullets bounce harmlessly off his chest for a few seconds before using his heat vision to melt the barrel of the machine gun.

"That wasn't your best idea," he said.

The Intergangsters began to rush him with surprising coordination, not that it helped them. A single burst of Super-breath knocked them all to floor. Almost immediately afterwards, fifteen men in black body armor and gas masks burst through several doors in the back of the club. Most of them spread out and dived behind tables and chairs to open fire with some kind of laser weapon, a few began somehow climbing directly up the walls while aiming pistols at Clark, and one climbed up on top of the bar with a strange-looking gun in his hand connected to a tank on his back.

Green gas began to poor out of the strange gun and Clark held his breath. Clark took a step towards the man on the bar when one of the wall crawlers landed on top of him and stabbed him with a needle. Clark threw the man, knocking a second crawler off the wall. Before any others could attack, Superman flew across the room to the gasser, pinching the nozzle of his gun shut.

The gasser reached to his belt and pulled out a taser, jabbing it into Superman's neck. Clark winced at the pain but shoved the gasser into the wall, where he slumped over. Another wall crawler dropped on Clark's head with another taser, but was quickly sent flying into two of the troopers with the lasers. Superman grabbed the fourth and final wall crawler with one hand and smashed him through a table. As he moved to knock out two more troopers, he noticed that he was slowing down. Maybe it was because of the needle the first wall crawler had used on him.

Whatever the cause, it wasn't enough to help the next three troopers. As he knocked the heads of two more together, the last continued firing. Clark walked up to him as the lasers flashed harmlessly (though they were beginning to sting) into his chest. Clark placed a hand on the weapon and tried to snap it. It bent slightly and stopped firing but didn't break. This was getting concerning. He knocked out the last trooper and turned to look for the wall crawler who'd stabbed him with the syringe. The other fourteen armored Intergangsters were sprawled around the room, but that crawler had disappeared. There was no time to worry about that. Clark had to find Mannheim.

He didn't have to look far. Mannheim was standing in the doorway to the offices at the back of the club, holding another of the strange laser rifles. In front of him were a very concerned-looking Jimmy and a very agitated-looking Lois.

"What _took_ you so long?" she asked.

"Got a little tied up with these Intergoons," Clark replied.

"You know," said Mannheim, "You really are as dumb as you look. These guns have been sapping your powers, and you didn't even notice. I figure by this point you ain't all that much stronger than one of us mere mortals."

 _So that was it. Then what was that syringe?_

"I've still got enough in me to take you down, Mannheim."

"Why so combative, kid? I just called you here to talk."

"Why did you sabotage the Hobsneck Bridge?" Clark questioned.

"Oh, I didn't do that. Just sold some gear and information to an interested party."

"Who?"

"That would be telling. And besides, you don't really need to know any of this. I'm just stalling until my associate's science project shows up."

Clark felt a strong pair of arms wrap around him and begin to drag him back. The arms were slimy and misshapen, like they'd melted, and were colored a dull, muddy purple. When Superman flew into the ceiling to get the creature off him, he saw that the arms had a body to match. It was roughly human in shape, but at least eight feet tall and bent over in a painful-looking hunch. Blue flashes of what appeared to be electricity flickered through its bulging veins. It let out a low, hissing snarl.

"It's called the Parasite!" Mannheim called, "It saps energy, and it looks like it thought yours was pretty tasty."

Superman rushed toward the monster, throwing a punch directly into its twisted face. It was like hitting a brick wall. Clark recoiled, clutching at his bruised knuckles. The creature grabbed him before he could react, and hurled him across the room, where he smashed into a table. He started to get up, but cringed in pain, realizing a splinter had gone into his shoulder.

Before he got to his feet, the creature's fist connected with his chest, sending him hurtling out the window.

* * *

Superman was beginning to engage the monster, and Mannheim was too busy watching to pay much attention. Lois thought she'd heard about as much as she was going to from him, so she took her chance. She grabbed the nearest chair and smashed it over Mannheim's head. He crumpled immediately.

"You could've done that at any time?" Jimmy asked incredulously.

"Well, he seemed like he was in a chatty mood. I wanted to hear what he had to say."

"Note to self: don't get on Lois' bad side," Jimmy muttered, "So what's the plan?"

Lois picked up one of the laser rifles from the unconscious Mannheim.

"Hope you've got good aim," she said.

"You're not seriously-"

"Yep. Grab one of these and start shooting. If these can drain Superman, they can take down Tall, Purple, and Gruesome over there."

A few stories gone wrong notwithstanding, Lois had only fired guns at a shooting range, but she'd done that enough to be surprised at how little recoil the strange weapon had. The creature was lumbering towards the club's front door, no doubt because it couldn't fit out the window it had thrown Superman through. As Lois' first few shots struck the creature in the center of the back, it didn't seem to notice. Jimmy was just picking up another one of the weapons.

"Try to hold its attention and keep it moving around!" Lois said, "Maybe we can buy some time."

"Uh… Hey, ugly!" Jimmy yelled, "Yeah, you! Big blob of grape jelly! You hungry for something? Come over here!"

One of his shots grazed the creature's ears. Lois wasn't sure if it was that or what Jimmy had yelled that got its attention, but it turned toward them and let out a low, gurgling roar.

* * *

Clark's vision was blurry and his ears were ringing. He forced himself to move again, shifting on the hard asphalt. Before he'd even started to sit up, he felt it: a familiar rush, like fire spreading through his nerves.

The creature had made the mistake of throwing him into the sunlight. It would take him a while to fully recharge, but he could feel his wounds sealing and his strength returning.

As he rose to his feet, Superman heard a low, gurgling roar from inside the club. Calling on his newly regained strength, he hurled himself back through the door. He careened into the monster, knocking it into the opposite wall.

The creature let out another sound, a repeated warble that sounded almost like a laugh. Not taking any chances with coming into contact with the creature again, Clark let out a blast of heat vision, which the creature angrily swatted away with its hand.

Before Clark could react, the creature had released its own scorching beams from its eyes. Clark crossed his arms in front of his face, feeling the painful scorch of the monster's heat vision. Holding the beam at bay for a moment, he threw his arms down, meeting the beam with his own heat vision. The meeting point of the two beams slowly receded, inching closer to the monster's face.

It threw its hands up like Superman had done and began marching forward into Clark's heat vision beam. Realizing that the heat vision wouldn't stop the creature, Clark blinked the beam off and unleashed a blast of super breath. This proved to be the wrong move, since the monster just burst through the wind and wrapped its hands around Clark's neck.

The next sound from the creature's throat sounded disturbingly close to the word "Delicious."

"You're intelligent," Superman breathed.

"And hungry," the Parasite said, squeezing his throat tighter.

Clark tried to pry its – _his_ , he corrected himself – meaty hands from his throat, but he couldn't budge them. His powers had been sapped too much already. In desperation, he tried to use his heat vision again to blind the Parasite. To his surprise, it worked, and the creature released him.

"You couldn't drain all my power," Clark said, "You're topped off."

The Parasite stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, forming a twisted mockery of a smile.

"Yes."

Clark lunged forward but a swift right hook from the Parasite sent him sprawling.

* * *

Jimmy looked at Lois.

"These aren't helping," he said, gesturing to the laser.

"Not with only two of them…" Lois mumbled.

"I've got another thought. If that thing's… _full_ , maybe we can overload it somehow."

"What've you got in mind?"

"These guns aren't guns. They're throwing some kind of energy, like a flashlight, not bullets. They probably run on electricity, and a _lot_ of it. We crack the batteries out of these suckers and find some way of making a loop, and we can zap that bubblegum-flavored creep."

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

The Parasite's punch to his chest felt like an oncoming freight train. Clark flew backwards but caught himself on his feet. The Parasite rushed toward him and he punched the monster in the face. The Parasite rolled with the punch and returned the favor, sending Clark sprawling onto the floor.

Clark scrambled for the splash of sunlight where he'd landed through the club's roof only to feel the crushing impact of the Parasite's foot on his back.

"You want sun?" the Parasite growled, "Here."

The Parasite grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hurled him clear through the wall, a portion of which shattered at the impact. The creature had only gotten stronger.

Clark began to struggle to his feet once more, but the Parasite was already upon him. He felt a huge, twitching hand wrap around him and smash him into the ground. Clark grabbed the Parasite's thumb to try to start dislodging the hand, but his grip was broken when the creature smashed him into the asphalt again.

As the Parasite lifted Clark up, presumably to smash him into the ground again, it howled in pain. The blue lights flickering through his veins lit up all at once, as the stinging burn of electricity hit Clark as well. As the massive magenta monstrosity collapsed on top of him, Clark blacked out.

* * *

"Uh, Jimmy?" Lois said, "I think that got Superman too."

"I… _think_ he'll be fine?"

"You're dumber than you look, kid," said a familiar raspy voice, "And that's saying something."

The two turned to see Ugly Mannheim, clutching the top of his head with one arm and using one of the laser rifles as a crutch with the other. He shifted his weight and brought the gun up to aim it at Lois and Jimmy.

"Haven't you people had _enough?_ " Lois said, unfazed.

"You think this was all of us?" Mannheim snapped, "I've got half of intergang on their way here right now. Think Captain PJs over there can go another round with my boys? You're _dead._ You're _all_ dead."

A long shaft of metal suddenly embedded itself in the ground at Mannheim's feet.

"Actually, I think they're doing alright for themselves, Ugly."

Mannheim jumped back and whirled around to look up towards the roof of the building. A man in a grey hockey mask and some kind of leather shoulder padding stood directly above the door, flanked by two more in camouflaged combat gear, balaclavas, and shaded goggles. They were both holding assault rifles but Lois noted that they appeared to be wearing swords as well.

"Crock," Mannheim said, "What the hell kind of getup is that?"

"Hey, a Sportsmaster needs quality equipment," Crock said, "Anyway, my point is that there's actually nobody coming. Your people are dead, and you will be too if you don't play your cards right, so all of you shut up and listen. Ugly, I recall my client specifically telling you _not_ to kill the alien."

"I'm not his lapdog."

"I know, you're somebody else's. I get it; I do. But we're not impressed. My client's got bigger plans, and we need him alive. Personally, I'd just as soon off him now, but hey, it's not my money. We're also taking my client's new monster back."

"That wasn't part of the deal!" Mannheim yelled.

"I don't care," the strange "sports master" said matter-of-factly.

"Y-you're bluffing!" Mannheim insisted, "You can't have killed everybody. I've still got people on their way."

"Ugly, you _know_ who we _are_ , right? Your Intergoons are _dead._ So are the ones inside, actually. My associates have been killing them while we were talking. Now go play with your weird interdimensional toys and don't get in my client's away again."

Mannheim fell to his knees. After a moment, Jimmy spoke.

"So… do we get to leave?" he asked.

"Sure, kid. Grab big blue and scram. My client actually wants you to talk about what happened here, but I'll consider it a personal favor if you leave this last bit out. My employer doesn't like publicity. Different guys. Long story."

Sportsmaster pulled a large disc out from his belt and snapped it over his knee. Smoke rapidly leaked out of the inside of the object, enveloping the three figures on the roof. By the time it cleared, they were gone.

* * *

Crock pulled off his mask as his assassin subordinates wheeled in the Parasite on a stretcher. He looked around the cavernous decommissioned LexAir hangar his client's little conspiracy was using as a base of operations. Workers in crisp green LexCorp jumpsuits flitted around between work stations filled with equipment Crock didn't recognize or care about. One practically flew up to Crock as soon as the stretcher was wheeled in. Used to seeing him in expensive three-piece suits, it took Crock a moment to realize that the man in the jumpsuit was Luthor himself.

"What happened?" Luthor asked.

"Ugly got a little carried away and tried to give your alien an unscheduled execution. We killed like fifty of his guys to make sure he knew how bad of an idea that was."

"Hmph. You the one that overloaded Jones?"

"Nah, that was Supey and friends. You should see the other guy. Now, how'd you know he got overloaded?"

"The energy channeling nodes are glowing," Luthor said, pulling out some kind of tablet-like device and scanning it across the Parasite's body, "And it's what _I'd_ do."

"Also got-" Crock started to say, but paused because Luthor seemed preoccupied.

"High levels of red sun radiation," he mumbled, "Must've used the power cells from those peashooters Ugly sold us."

Crock cleared his throat.

"I also got the sample for your other project."

Luthor turned back as Crock got out the kryptonite-tipped syringe he'd used while disguised as one of Mannheim's wall-crawlers.

"Finally," said Luthor, "Some _good_ news."

* * *

 **Quick note: Fanfiction ate my scene dividers on the last chapter. Should be fixed now. Put a note at the bottom of that one too, but wanted to make it clear that it wasn't intentional. I've waded through too many deliberately illegible formatting choices to pull something like that on you guys. My usual line breaks are just a hyphen, since I think it looks less obtrusive than the full line, but Fanfiction seems to decide those don't exist and deletes the entire line. Go figure.**


	5. Chapter 4: Meetings

"Hello, Rudy."

Rudy Jones, sometimes known as the Parasite, stirred in the deactivated stasis tube, growling.

"Gettin' hungry, Luthor. You're looking pretty tasty out there."

"Spare the threats," Luthor snapped, "We both know you can't get out."

"Sure I can't," Jones said, "but you're going to let me out."

"Alright, let's say I believe that for a minute," Luthor replied, "Care to explain _why_ I'm letting you out?"

"I know something you don't know," Jones said in a sing-song voice.

"Some knowledge you absorbed from Superman, I presume."

"I know who he is. I know where he lives. I know his family. You can too."

"That's all very exciting, but I imagine you're about to tell me the catch."

"The catch is that you don't kill him."

"Oh?"

"Where else am I going to find so much delicious energy? I can't let you kill him. Not a chance. Not _my_ meal ticket."

"I see. And you think you're in a position to make demands of me."

"Well, how else are you planning on taking him down? Little red lasers? Come on, Lex. You know you need me, and you need what I know."

"Rudy, let me phrase this as clearly as I can," Lex began slowly, "You were the _janitor_. The only reason you have your powers is because I saw fit to save your life after you tried to steal from me. I have ways of killing the alien you can't even begin to _imagine_ , and believe me when I say that he _will_ die. You will drain him for me when and where I decide that I need you to do so. We are not partners, nor do I especially care what you want or think. As it happens, a design I've been tinkering with for a much more promising weapon will come to fruition in about five days."

Luthor didn't flinch as Jones punched the glass of the tank.

"You're making a hell of a mistake, Luthor!"

"I don't make mistakes," Luthor said as he turned the stasis equipment back on.

* * *

"What… hit me?" Superman groaned as he regained consciousness.

He couldn't feel his strength returning, which either meant they were indoors or that he'd been out for a lot longer than he realized. Lois and Jimmy were crouched over him, and his blurry vision was clearing to reveal concrete ceiling above them.

"Uh, sorry," Jimmy said, "That was me. Rigged something up from the laser thingies to stop that Para-whatsit."

"Then some clown in a hockey mask and football pads showed up and waxed self-important for a while before letting us go," Lois said, "Apparently his goons shot up Mannheim's, and _he's_ working for somebody who made that monster. I'd call the whole thing surreal, but I'm talking to an alien who runs around in bright blue spandex with his underwear outside his pants and just got into a fight with a big purple superpower-stealing monster. Surreal is my day job anymore."

"It's not underwear," Superman said as he sat up, taking in the familiar surroundings.

"What are we doing in the _Planet_ 's parking garage?" he blurted out.

It occurred to Clark a little too late that Superman had no reason to recognize the _Daily Planet_ 's parking structure by sight.

 _Please don't catch that, Lois_ , he thought quietly.

"We weren't sure where else to take you," she said, "But how do you know we're at the _Planet_?"

 _Damn_ , he thought, _Alright, how would Superman figure out where he is?_

After a moment's hesitation, he had something.

"I can see through walls, remember?" he said, "I can see the big globe at the top."

In his present condition, he would barely be able to see through a frosted glass window, much less thirty-eight stories' worth of office building. Lois wouldn't know that, though.

"Wow, you bounced back that quickly?" Jimmy asked.

 _Figures._

"I must've gotten some sun on the way over," he said as he stood up, "Speaking of which, I should probably go try to recharge before these people make their next move."

"You sure we shouldn't be working together?" Lois asked, "We keep bumping into each other, and we don't make a half-bad team."

Superman smiled.

"Trust me, when you need me, I'll be in touch. Thanks for the help back there, though."

In his head, that comment would have been followed by running out of the garage with his super speed and taking off. In practice, he made it about halfway there before stumbling to a halt, clutching his side in pain.

"You need some help there, Superman?" Lois called, sounding at least partially sincere.

"I'll… be fine," he said.

Clark stepped out into the sunlight, which immediately began to work its magic. He wouldn't have nearly enough time to get back to full power, but it ought to be enough. He breathed in the crisp Metropolis air and leaned against the corner of the _Planet_ building, attempting to be as inconspicuous as a six-foot-tall man in a Kryptonian Battlesuit could be. It was not pajamas and he was not wearing his underwear outside his pants, no matter _what_ anyone else said.

 _Alright, it does kind of look like underwear._

Clark shook his head and thought about his next steps. It would take about five minutes for Lois to get back to the newsroom, even if she made Jimmy take the steps instead of the busy, out-of-date elevators. He could use about four of those minutes to recharge.

Once he'd done so, he took off. After the draining experience of fighting the Parasite, it was good to feel the wind in his face as he circled around the _Planet_ building. The feeling, however, lasted only a second as he reached the window of the unused thirty-third floor supply closet.

Given the size and shape of the room, and the fact that it had a window, Clark guessed it had originally been built as an office and later converted into a closet in the building's 1987 remodeling. It hadn't been used since 2011, fortunately for Clark. He grabbed a small, unassuming cardboard box marked 'PRINTER PAPER' from the corner and opened it, pulling out his street clothes.

In a few seconds, he was dressed. He darted to the stairwell and climbed it at breakneck speed. He burst out into the thirty-seventh floor main newsroom, practically – not actually – flying into his chair and waking up his computer. When Lois got up there, she'd have no idea he'd ever been gone.

"In a hurry, Smallville?" Lois said from her desk.

 _Alright, how does she_ do _that?_

"Just a quick bathroom break," Clark said as casually as he could, taking a swig of his cold half-drunk coffee from that morning.

"'Quick' is right. What's the scoop?"

"I'm trying to get this piece on the new water treatment plant written. Why'd _you_ duck out so early?"

"You can find out on tomorrow's front page," Lois said with a cocky grin.

"That's your 'I've got another Superman story,' face," Clark pointed out.

"Hey!" she said, "I'll have you know it's about organized crime in Metropolis."

Clark gave her a skeptical look over his glasses.

"… And Superman," she finally added.

"There it is."

* * *

 **New Treatment Plant to Open Monday**

Mayor gives comment about plant, Hobsneck disaster.

[Facebook – Twitter – Email – Print – Bookmark]

By Clark Kent, October 11, 2018

Commuters will be glad to know the construction blocking 4th street will be finished in a few days' time, and they're not the only ones with reason to be happy. City publicity materials claim that the new water treatment plant will make Metropolis' water the cleanest in the country. We've got an exclusive inside look at the technology that powers the plant, and how well it'll measure up to the city's bombastic claims.

* * *

Clark noticed that Lois was peering over his shoulder.

"Not bad," she said, "But where's this big inside scoop _coming_ from?"

Clark shrugged.

"What do you think I've been _working_ on all morning?"

* * *

Corben swallowed as the elevator lurched upward. He was not one to get nervous, but there was something ominously grandiose about the LexCorp Tower. Even the elevator looked more expensive than his entire apartment. The walls had hardwood panels with chrome-plated highlights and the oddly-colored ceiling lights cast a dull green glow into the spacious compartment.

When he stepped out into the reception area, Luthor's assistant, Graves, barely looked at him before waving him onto the main office. Corben took a deep breath as the automatic door slid open.

Luthor's office was laid out as a large hall, lined by aquariums filled with a variety of exotic-looking fish, with a large, curved desk at the end in front of a picture window. Luthor was talking on the phone as a bored-looking Crusher Crock leaned against a fish tank with an odd-looking starfish in it.

"Have a seat," Crock said, "he's been at this for a while."

"I don't care _what_ that silver-spoon-slurping overgrown playboy is bidding, get me the Blüdhaven crash site!" Luthor yelled at whoever was on the other end of the phone call, "I don't know how so much Kryptonite is getting here, but if I can't have all of it, the plan is in danger."

The person on the other end said something.

"See that you do," Luthor replied, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a guest."

"Having some trouble, Lex?" Crock said.

"Don't push me," Luthor growled, "As for you, Mr. Corben, I'm glad you could make it."

"Pleased to be here, Mr. Luthor," Corben said, "What's the job?"

"The same as the last, as far as you're concerned. You know about the water treatment plant opening on Monday?"

"I'd heard about it," Corben acknowledged.

"Be there. It will catch on fire. Superman will arrive. Shoot him again."

"Didn't seem to stick last time," Corben said, scratching his head.

"It's not supposed to, and that's all you need to know."

"Hey, I can take a hint. I don't get paid to ask questions."

"Very professional. You could learn from his example, Crock."

"I like to think I make up for it with my charming personality and unparalleled talent," Crock drawled.

"You're only here because you're cheaper than Deathstroke," Luthor snapped, "Corben, we're done here. See Mercy about getting another Kryptonite cannon on your way out."

Corben nodded, and started jogging back towards the entrance. He had a bad feeling about this place, and he didn't want to spend any more time there than necessary.

* * *

"You wouldn't want to work with Slade. No sense of humor, and he overcharges," Crock said.

"Your… connections don't hurt, either."

"So what's this treatment plant business _really_ about? We both know you already got everything you needed from the bridge."

"Another public defeat for the so-called 'Man of Steel' is always helpful."

"But that ain't it."

"No, it isn't. In all honesty, this operation is as much for Mr. Corben's benefit as our own. That's where you come in."

* * *

 **Quick note: This chapter takes place on October 10, but the article snippet is for the following day's edition of the** _ **Daily Planet**_ **, hence the October 11 date.**


	6. Chapter 5: The Treatment Plant Incident

In some ways, it wasn't especially surprising when treatment plant caught on fire.

After the near plane crash and the bridge collapse, Clark suspected there might be a third attack. The perpetrators were looking for attention, and with the plant's opening all over the news, they could be sure to get it. There were other viable targets, but Clark had to take a gamble on something. The series of blasts rocking the facility told him it had paid off.

As the building shook behind the mayor's podium, the assembled press scattered, some running for the hills and some scrambling for cameras and cell phones. Clark grit his teeth and removed his glasses.

"This looks like a job for Superman," he whispered.

With his prodigious speed, it was only a moment before he was gone and back, already in costume. He landed atop the podium as the assembled officials began to flee, escorted by their security. Clark placed a hand on the plant manager's shoulder.

"Is there anyone inside?"

"The workers have already started-"

"I've got them."

* * *

The heat of the flames beat against Corben's face as he assembled the strange weapon. He wasn't sure exactly what it was or how it worked, but if it could knock out Superman with a single shot, he couldn't afford to be careless in handling it.

"Hey! Up there on the stairs!" someone yelled below him.

Corben tightened the last bolt attaching the scope to his gun.

"Help us!" the voice yelled, "The fire's got us trapped down here!"

Corben aimed the gun, checking that the scope was lined up properly.

"That's the idea, pal," he called to the six trapped workers, "Don't worry; Superman'll be here _real_ soon."

At first, Corben didn't even see him – just a ripple in the flames, and two workers gone. The next time through, he saw the red blur.

 _Same trajectory. Assuming he comes back for the last two, he should be here right about…_

"Now."

Corben pulled the trigger.

His aim was close, but not perfect. Superman was far faster than even the strange green bullets of Luthor's strange green rifle, so trying to hit him in motion was a matter of guesswork. Whatever those bullets were made of, however, didn't seem to need a direct hit to have an effect. Superman immediately slowed and fell, tumbling into the sea of fire that was slowly engulfing the plant's floor. Corben wasn't dumb enough to assume the Man of Steel was dead. He reached into his satchel and withdrew another bullet, reloading Luthor's gun, keeping his aim trained on the spot where he'd lost track of Superman. Right on cue, a hand reached up out of the flame, fingers digging into the wall.

"Gotcha, you big blue-"

"Freeze, dirtbag!"

Corben's gaze snapped up to the catwalk to which his staircase connected at the top. On the other side were a group of police, led by a tall blonde woman in a trench coat and a heavyset older man in, of all things, a bowler hat.

"Drop the weapon and get your hands up!" the woman yelled.

Corben's eyes darted between the fire below him and the police above him. It looked like he'd have to shoot his way out. He raised the rifle and pointed it at the anachronistically behatted flatfoot.

A shot rang out, and Corben felt a sharp pain in his sternum. His arms fell to his sides and he stumbled back, staring down at the source of the pain, a bullet wound that was gushing blood.

 _Funny,_ he thought _I figured it would hurt more._

It occurred to Corben's rapidly expiring mind that he couldn't let the police get their hands on the gun. He rushed forward, hurling himself over the railing and into the fire below.

* * *

Superman dragged himself through the fire, trying to pull away from whatever was weakening him. As the pain began to subside, he examined the fires themselves. These hadn't been caused by any normal bomb. Whatever exploded had splattered some kind of flammable liquid throughout the plant as it did so. It was getting stuck to Superman's costume, which was itself flaming.

He could faintly hear voices above him.

"Dammit!"

"I thought I said to hold your fire in here, Clemente!"

"Sorry 'bout that, Sawyer. I saw him aiming at Turpin and I had to take him down."

"Hell, I'll _take_ a bullet if we can figure out who's behind all this. Now all our _evidence_ is on fire."

Superman began spinning rapidly, blowing out the fire on his clothes. He still had two more workers to save.

* * *

'Officer Clemente' held back as the two detectives and the other three officers rushed down onto the stairs to look for any trace of the mysterious assassin. He touched a finger to the hidden switch on his fake earpiece.

"Sportsmaster to base," he muttered, "Johnny boy's down. Didn't even hit the boy scout before we got to him."

"Understood. Bring back what's left of him and we'll get started."

* * *

"In these troubling times, our community must stand united."

Clark did his best to tune out the platitudes that made up the bulk of Luthor's press conference. Instead, he leaned over to Lois next to him.

"You find anything on what's left of the explosives from the treatment plant?" he whispered.

"No, why?" she said.

"That's just it; I think whoever's behind this is designing their own hardware."

"Unless it's more of Intergang's equipment. Where'd you _get_ that thing, anyway?"

"I… have my sources."

"Feeling cagey, Smallville?"

"Just a little."

* * *

Luthor grit his teeth as the helicopter whipped the cold October air into his face. When it touched down, his fake EMTs rolled out a gurney onto the tarmac. Luthor gave them a curt nod as they wheeled it past towards the 'hangar.' They'd kept the gurney covered, so he guessed there wasn't much left of Corben. That was good. As long as his brain, such as it was, was intact, the procedure would be simpler with less biomass in the way. He looked back to the helicopter to see a tall blond man in a police officer's uniform get off.

"Another flawless mission for the Lea-" Crock began.

"Never mind that. We're getting ready to make our first major play."

"The _big_ one, huh?"

"We'll need you to recover and plant the device in a few days. I'll have my security ready to 'fail' to stop your people at a time of your choice."

"Like they'd stop us anyway."

"Still, there's no need to make you kill any perfectly serviceable security. Just get the device and I'll see to the rest."

"You keep saying 'device,' Lex. Why not just call it a nuke?"

* * *

 **OK, I try not to spend too much wordcount angsting about this kind of thing since there's no particular schedule, but I'm sorry about the wait for this chapter. I** _ **should**_ **be able to update more regularly going forward. Can't guarantee anything, and I'm having to reconsider my plans and posting schedule for DC BLUE more generally given how long this is taking, but with a little luck, you shouldn't have to expect any more multi-month breaks. Fingers crossed. I have gotten some work done on the next couple stories, so maybe I'll start those up to make up for my inactivity. It messes with the timeline, but hey, this was supposed to be done before October '18, so the timeline's out the window anyway.**


	7. Chapter 6: Metallo

Corben awoke to pitch blackness and a strange feeling across his body. It took him a moment to register that it was not so much a feeling as the absence of any feeling. He wasn't certain how that was possible, but it was extremely disconcerting. He noted with increasing concern that it was not only totally dark, but completely silent as well. With not much else to do, he spent a moment considering that he could neither smell nor taste, either.

Was he dead? He didn't think so. If he remembered Sunday school correctly, he was bound for a bit more fire and brimstone when he got to that point. Was this a coma? A dream? Would he turn around in a moment and be naked in front of his 9th grade English class?

He had no such luck. The blankness continued. With no frame of reference for time, it might have been minutes or hours. All Corben knew was that he wanted to break out of it. Eventually, the silence was split by a loud, painful click.

 _Ow! Better an obnoxious sound than none, I guess._

"Hello, John."

It was Luthor. Corben's reply would have been loud and laced with obscenities if he retained any capacity for speech.

"The technicians tell me you can hear me. I'd hate to repeat myself and they'd hate to lose their jobs, so I'll assume you can."

Corben wasn't sure how Luthor could say 'jobs' but make it so clear that he meant 'lives.' Somehow, the man had pulled it off.

"You had an accident at the treatment plant."

Luthor had a funny definition of 'accident,' too. Corben would have laughed if he could have.

"You're lucky Mr. Crock was there to recover you. On the bright side, you were an ideal candidate for one of our projects."

"Mr. Luthor, we're bringing his vision online."

"Excellent. Rise and shine, John. Welcome back to the world of the living."

Corben's eyes were immediately flooded with harsh white light. He tried to blink, but had no motor control. That was fine. The light didn't hurt anyway. His vision slowly focused on Luthor's silhouette until he could make out the scene in front of him. There was not much to see, however. A few men in lab coats and safety goggles shuffled around him, Luthor among them. A large light was embedded in the ceiling, and a few of the technicians were holding unfamiliar tools. Corben tried to look to his sides, but his eyes would not move.

"We saved you, John," Luthor said, "At least, the only thing that matters."

Luthor reached out and tapped something above Corben's field of vision. He heard a metallic clunk.

"Activating limited motor functions, Mr. Luthor."

Suddenly, Corben's vision shifted wildly. He could see an operating table with a twisted mound of burnt flesh piled onto it. He was beginning to piece together what had happened, and he desperately hoped he was wrong. Luthor stepped in front of him, and Corben found his eyes drifting up to look him in the face.

"You should be able to speak now, John. Do you have anything to say?"

"What the hell did you _do_ to me, you psychopath?"

"John, I'm disappointed in you. You should have figured that out for yourself _well_ before this point. We simply transferred your brain into a synthetic body. The original plans were designed by a man named Niles Caulder, a true genius. I'd know; I am one. That's why I improved on his design after I… borrowed it."

"Why can't I feel anything?" Corben asked.

"Calm down, John. That's coming soon."

" _How_ soon?"

"We can't turn on your artificial nerves until you promise me something. Two things, actually."

Of course there was a catch.

"Alright, let's hear it."

"First, I imagine the process is… disconcerting. Believe me, I understand. I want you to promise me that when we let you move, you won't do anything rash. Anything _stupid_. Can you promise me that, John?"

"Stop patronizing me," Corben growled.

"Answer the _question_ , Corben," Luthor snapped.

"Fine. What's the other condition?"

"Well, your new body happens to be powered by the same, wonderfully versatile material that was built into your gun. If we let you up, you're going to help me kill Superman."

"Why should I?" Corben asked.

"First, because if we don't fully activate you, we'll just kill you and find another subject for Project: Metallo."

"Alright, that's not bad. What else have you got?"

"Second, there's no reason a cyborg can't be filthy rich."

"You're a persuasive man, Luthor. Is there a reason number three?"

"Naturally. Revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Of course, John. Who do you think did this to you?"

"I was shot."

"You were hit in the chest by something. Would a pair of beams of light so concentrated they can melt through steel really feel so different from a bullet?"

"Yes?" Corben said incredulously, "Superman was _down_ when I got hit."

"But not out. You can inspect the damage to your former body if you want. I assure you we've done so quite thoroughly. Everything is in order."

Corben fell silent for a moment.

"I kill the bastard myself," he said.

"Unfortunately, that's not part of the plan. This is not a negotiation, John. This is an offer."

Luthor was right, and it was an offer Corben couldn't refuse.

"Alright, Luthor, you've got yourself a deal."

"Of course I do," he said, "Gentlemen, activate Mr. Corben's nerves."

Corben could feel a tingle travel down his spine and spread out through his limbs. When it was done, he began to sit up.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Metallo," said Luthor.

* * *

 **Point of clarification: Robotman is actually a more advanced design of brain-bot than Metallo… or he will be just as soon as he gets robot-ed. Like Luthor said, the Chief's current iteration of the technology is still basically a blueprint, and hasn't been tested on a human subject at this point in the timeline. Metallo is Luthor's modified spin on that design.**

 **Oh, and I took down the worldbuilding notes "chapter" because it was serving no purpose. It's pretty much just outline material that has no business being in the published version of the story.**


	8. Chapter 7: The Tables Turn

"Mr. Luthor, you should see what's on TV."

Luthor raised an eyebrow and touched the intercom button.

"And why is that?"

"Some word from our contractor, sir."

"I see. Thank you, Mercy."

He tapped a button on the underside of his desk. A panel in the surface of his desk slid away and a small flat screen popped up.

"You ever have one of those days where there's just _nothing_ on?" said the masked man crouched in front of the camera "Yeah, it's annoying. But fear not, good citizens of Metropolis. The Sportsmaster is here to alleviate your boredom."

"Crock, you clown, just get to point," Luthor muttered.

"What I have here, citizens, is a scientific marvel of a device my people stole from LexCorp. See, it takes the nucleus of an atom… and splits it. Or, uh, something. I didn't pay much attention in physics class. The point is, this creates a very large _boom_. One might characterize it as an atomic _bomb_ , of sorts. Did you know Uncle Lex manufactures those for the government? He does. Very patriotic. Good citizen, that one."

Luthor noted that he'd have to instruct Crock to limit his material in the future.

"Anyway, the real point is, I'm gonna detonate this. You've got the hour I'm giving myself to skip town to find it. That's all I really had to say. Later, Metropolis!"

The screen went black before cutting back to a pair of bewildered GBS anchors. Luthor pushed the screen back into the desk and stood up, hitting the intercom button again.

"Mercy."

"Yes, Mister Luthor?"

"Get the armor."

* * *

"How the hell did he take over all the channels like that?" Lois said.

Clark, noticing that he'd pulled his glasses off to watch the broadcast, quietly slipped them back on while everyone else in the newsroom was gaping at what they'd seen.

"I… uh… have a thought," he said, edging towards the door "Would you let Chief know I'm running down a lead?"

"I'll tell Perry, but I don't think he'll take the 'Chief' bit well," Lois replied dryly as Clark took off.

* * *

Metallo looked down at his hand. The synthetic skin looked good enough from a distance, but it had a plastic-like quality to it. His feeling had been restored as promised, but not the same way as before. He could gauge his body's position accurately and identify when it was touching something, but hadn't felt any pain, texture, or temperature since before the incident with Superman.

He hated it. He hated Superman.

"Something's flying our way," rasped the monster next to him.

He'd met Parasite shortly after he'd awoken. Rudy Jones was another of Luthor's monsters. Metallo would've snorted if his new body had the need or ability to breathe. That was what he was now, wasn't it? He was a monster.

He zoomed his vision in on the object Parasite had pointed out.

"That's the boss. Even Superman doesn't work fast enough to reach us by now."

"You never know, John."

"Metallo. I'm Metallo now," Corben muttered as the green-armored figure landed in front of them.

Luthor was wearing a suit covered in thick dark green metal, with a pattern of glowing lights on the chest and a purple visor obscuring his face.

"Any sign?" said Luthor's modulated voice.

"No, and I'm starving," said Parasite.

"Remember: Embarrass him as much as you see fit, but don't kill him. It's not his time just yet."

"Wouldn't _dream_ of it," Parasite hissed.

"I'll be waiting for your signal, Metallo," Luthor said, taking off again.

* * *

It didn't take long for Superman to search the city. He spotted the bomb beneath an out-of-the-way intersection in Eastern New Troy. As he approached, however, he noticed two figures standing in the center of the intersection. One was the Parasite he'd fought at the Intergang hideout. He was dangerous, but Clark knew what he was capable of now. The other appeared human, but a check with X-Ray vision revealed a metal shell rather than flesh and blood beneath his skin, including a lead-lined compartment of some sort in his chest that Clark couldn't see through.

Superman went into a dive, reaching the metal man, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, and rocketing back into the sky before he or the Parasite had a chance to react. Superman stopped a few hundred feet in the air.

"Alright," he said to the metal man, "What's your story?"

The metal man looked down towards the ground.

"This supposed to intimidate me, Superman?" he said, tearing the front of his shirt open "I can _handle_ a little fall. Can you?"

A panel slid open in the artificial surface of the metal man's chest. A wave of pain washed over Superman as he recognized a much larger piece of the strange green substance he'd been shot with at the Hobsneck bridge. Superman and the metal man began plummeting towards the ground.

* * *

Luthor hovered alone in the sky. He would've liked to watch his creations battle Superman, but he had to keep his distance until the appropriate moment. A small red light blinked twice on his HUD. That was the signal from Metallo.

The media was on the scene.

He rocketed forth, making sure to pass the camera of the _Daily Planet_ helicopter as he spiraled down to the melee between Superman, Metallo, and Parasite. Jones had his arms wrapped around Superman's throat and Corben was preparing a blast from his chest. Luthor fired a blast from his gauntlet beams, sending Parasite sprawling. Metallo turned to face Luthor, who backhanded him across the face.

Corben overplayed the fall, throwing himself backwards next to Superman. Luthor looked to the alien.

"Deal with this scum," he growled loud enough for the news to hear, "I've got the bomb."

Luthor activated the micro-missile launcher in his shoulder-plate, blasting a hole in the street. He flew over above the hole and turned off his boot jets, dropping down into the sewers below. He splashed down into the water and tried to rise to approach the device.

He couldn't move.

"Suit. Reboot," he ordered.

The suit's computers didn't respond.

"Suit, diagnose power failure," he snapped more urgently.

Nothing.

"You know you sound stupid when you talk to yourself like that?" said a familiar voice.

Luthor looked up as best he could with his helmet locked in position. He was surrounded by men in tactical gear with swords at their sides. A figure splashed down in front of him.

"Crock. What is this?"

"Fancy gadget in from the bosses," Crock said dismissively, "Shuts down all electronics in the immediate vicinity."

"I _caught_ that part. Care to explain _why_ you've deployed it?"

"Well, _since_ I have a… _captive_ audience, I may as well," Crock said, taking a moment to chuckle at his own joke, "See, I told my employer about your little plan. He thought it was very clever! Really, he did. There was just one part he didn't like. He wasn't a huge fan of the bit where the nuke doesn't actually go off."

"What?!"

"Don't worry, I've set the timer a good deal longer than you specified. A couple of my comrades here are _dedicated_ enough to guard the bomb until it explodes, while your monsters embarrass Superman and I get the hell out of dodge. Really, I only stayed here _this_ long to see the look on your face, but…"

Crock tapped on Luthor's visor.

"I guess that won't happen."

"You son of a _bitch_ ," Luthor snarled.

"Hey, there's no reason to drag anyone's _mother_ into this," Crock laughed, "But hey! This is why you don't play with nukes, right?"

Crock climbed out of Luthor's view and most of his henchmen began walking away.

"Enjoy the detonation, Lexy!" Crock called.

The four remaining men receded into the shadows, positioned surrounding the device.

Luthor was furious. Crock had betrayed him and set up an entire city to be wiped out. Worst of all, he'd ruined a crucial step of Luthor's revenge against Superman. Now, it seemed the only thing Luthor could do was wait.

Indeed, waiting was all he had to do.

* * *

Metallo grimaced at the tick of his internal chronometer, or would have if his face possessed the necessary degree of flexibility to do so. He tore off a piece of the artificial skin from his face that had been pulled loose in the fighting and yelled to Parasite, who was currently being pummeled by Superman, swinging futilely at his much faster opponent.

"Less than sixty seconds to detonation!" Metallo called "No word from the boss!"

"I don't care!" Parasite yelled back as one of his swings finally connected with the Man of Steel's jaw, "I'm still hungry!"

Metallo hated Superman, but he wasn't going to risk getting the city blown up because Rudy Jones had a case of the munchies. His chest panel slid open again, and a green Kryptonite blast flew forth, incapacitating Parasite in a single shot. Evidently, Parasite had absorbed Superman's weaknesses with his abilities.

"Bon appetit," Metallo said.

Superman looked up at Metallo, visibly confused.

"I'll kill you some other time," Metallo snarled, "Get the bomb."

With that, Superman was gone.

* * *

Luthor caught himself almost letting out a sigh of relief as the red-and-blue streak rocketed down into the sewer. He _wasn't_ relieved to see Superman. He'd known all along that his failsafe would work. Metallo and Parasite would simply stop preventing the alien from disposing of the bomb at a certain point if Luthor failed to so himself.

When Superman landed, the four assassins burst forth from the shadows and opened fire. The alien, while surprised, was not harmed. He knocked two down with his impossible breath, melted a third's gun, and uppercut the last into the ceiling.

"Good job getting the bomb," the alien quipped to Luthor as he examined the device, "Five and a quarter minutes to detonation."

"Thank that maniac you've got the extra five," Luthor said, trying to remain in character, "Listen to me and I'll tell you how to disarm it. Inside the timer, there are colored wires."

"Let me guess," said the alien, "I have to cut the red one."

"Purple, actually," Luthor growled, "Then green. Then-"

"That's going to be a problem," Superman interrupted, "They're _all_ red."

 _Bastard replaced the wires_ , Luthor thought.

"Then you'll need to listen all the closer," he said out loud, "Look at the ports closest to the timer. Do you see the third wire from the right?"

The alien shook his head.

"There's no time for that."

He wrapped his arms around the bomb, and yanked it directly off the ground.

"What are you-"

"I can't stop this from detonating," Superman said, "But I can make sure it detonates somewhere it won't hurt anyone."

With that, Superman was gone again.

"Of course. Otherwise, you might have to share some of your spotlight, wouldn't you, alien?"

* * *

Something was off about the armored man, but Clark didn't have time to think about it. He could feel the bomb, heavy in his hands. At his full strength, not even a tractor trailer full of industrial machinery was heavy. Parasite had taken too much of his strength. Could he even survive the explosion?

It didn't matter. Even if this was his last flight, it was worth it.

That said, his best chance was to get clear of Earth's gravitational pull before he threw the bomb. As he rocketed upward, he could feel the air get thinner as he breathed. He was almost there, and there was no time to check the timer on the bomb. Clark sucked in one last breath as he burst out of the atmosphere.

He was so concentrated on his ascent that he didn't see the satellite until it was too late. He crashed through the metal structure, reeling from the pain, spinning, and, most concerningly, stopping for a moment.

Clark pushed forward again, tightening his grip on the bomb. He only had to make it a little further before he could make his throw.

He couldn't have much more time. He whirled and hurled the bomb. It rocketed out of his hands. With the power of Superman's throw and the lack of friction or gravity, it sped away from him at lightning speed. Superman turned, and as he began to fly away, he was overcome by a wave of searing heat.

* * *

 **You have no idea how tempted I was to have Clark say "Damn it, there goes HBO again" when he crashed through the satellite. However, the need for pacing and tension outweighed the need for CinemaSins references. Barely.**


End file.
